


discipline, lightly regarded

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Begging, Bent over the bed, D/s, Denial, F/F, Fingering, Spanking, Teasing, Wanheda vs Heda, bratty Clarke, canonverse, lexa has a penis, still somehow totally in character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Thanks to the summer heat, Clarke has been wallowing in bed all day. Lexa isn't pleased to discover that she has been neglecting her duties. Some discipline is in order.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [N1ghtWr1ter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtWr1ter/gifts).



> Exactly what it says on the tin. A Clexa spanking fic—in canonverse. I like to think their personalities are still solid and in-character even though it's a smutty situation.
> 
> Thanks to my followers on tumblr for inspiring me to write this sin. I'm at @raedmagdon if you want to follow the most holesome blog on the internet.
> 
> Yes, the title is making fun of a bible verse. Don't judge.
> 
> AS ALWAYS, I welcome any interpretations for why Lexa has a dick. Trans!Lexa and intersex!Lexa are great and A+. Or you can just not think about it, I guess? But I want it known that I think Trans!Lexa is beautiful, she is such a sweet wife for Clarke.

The midday heat is sweltering.

Clarke takes a long gulp of water from the cup beside her bed, but it's barely any help. Her skin is sticky and flushed, and she instantly regrets her nap—a nap she took mostly to avoid the hottest part of the day.

Polis is always humid in the summer, but this afternoon is exceptionally so. The air caressing her bare back is thick and heavy, causing a river to run down the furrow of her spine. More sweat sprouts from the nape of her neck, seeping into her hairline, and she groans in discomfort before flopping back onto the bed.

She's hot. Too hot. And worse—she's bored.

She hasn't seen anything of Lexa since their goodbye kiss that morning, but the taste still lingers on her lips: a taste that leaves her tingling merely from memory. True, she  _ could _ have joined Lexa as she went about her busy day, but it had been so uncomfortably warm out, and the fresh side of her pillow had been so cool and inviting...

Several hours later, she's done nothing productive at all. Stewing in the covers and groaning occasionally to the empty room is all the activity she's managed. The fact that the shades have been drawn is a miracle.

With another whine, she rolls over to Lexa's side of the bed, searching for shade. She's been back and forth across the mattress enough times to heat up the entire surface, but Lexa's scent is something of a comfort. It's the  _ good _ kind of warmth, one that relaxes Clarke's shoulders before sliding down low to pool in her belly.

Lexa. Just thinking her beloved's name is a soothing balm. Despite the awful heat and despite her boredom, Clarke feels lucky to be here—here in the room she shares with Lexa, with the city of Polis bustling below and all Thirteen Clans at peace. She has almost watched it slip through her fingers too many times to count.

Those thoughts are too heavy for such a hot day. She buries her face in Lexa's pillow instead, nuzzling in search of a comfortable spot. There are none to be found. Even flipping the pillow over doesn't help. She flings herself onto her back once more, staring forlornly at the ceiling.

It's hot. She misses Lexa—badly. Her relaxing day has become a restless one, but she's too sapped of energy to do anything about it.

Salvation comes in the form of footsteps and the sound of the door opening. Only one person would dare enter without knocking, but Clarke would have recognized Lexa's presence anywhere. They are attuned to each other, connected by a thread of intimacy that is hard to explain to others. When she looks up, she isn't the least bit surprised to see Lexa entering the room, wearing warpaint that has started to smudge from sweat and her swirling red cape.

Clarke has no qualms about her own nakedness as she props herself up in bed.

"Lexa."

"So, you are still here," Lexa says, stern and mildly chastising. "And undressed, I see. Have you even left the bed yet,  _ Klark? _ "

Clarke offers a sheepish grin. "Yes..."

"Other than to get water and close the curtains?"

Clarke's gaze slides over to the covered window. "Um..."

"As I thought."

Lexa strides over to the bed, and Clarke's heart stutters at the soft thud of her boots. She doesn't know how Lexa is still standing in this heat, clad as she is in so much black leather, but she certainly appreciates the way it clings.

"You know, I expect better of you. You have duties to attend to, Ambassador, just as I do."

"None today," Clarke protests.... at least, none that can't wait until tomorrow, when clouds might lower the temperature.

Lexa remains unconvinced. Though her green eyes betray just a hint of doting fondness, her otherwise plush lips remain pressed into a thin line of disapproval. "There is always something. We have our duties to our people."

"Our people aren't doing anything either," Clarke insists. "It's too hot. You could cook an egg on the floor."

That does break Lexa's solemn expression for a moment. She actually flashes a smile at the idiom before recovering. "Still, it is unlike you to waste your day away in our room. What have you been doing in here all this time?"

It doesn't take Clarke more than a moment to decide on a response. Lexa is fishing for an answer, and Clarke wants to give her an interesting one. "Hmm," she purrs, leaning forward onto her hands and knees and crawling closer. They meet at the edge of the bed, and although Lexa doesn't reach out to touch her, the Commander's eyes drift tellingly toward her cleavage. "What do you  _ think _ I've been doing?"

Lexa pretends to study the bed, although Clarke can tell that Lexa is really studying her. Prickling heat that has nothing to do with the temperature outside crawls along her shining skin.

"The covers are in disarray."

Clarke doesn't deny it. She strikes another pose, lounging on her side to show off her curves. Lexa notices, of course—and the leather she's wearing does very little to conceal her reaction. The slight tightening at the front of her pants is the most obvious sign, but her subtle intake of breath would have been enough for Clarke.

"You are not wearing any clothes."

Clarke lets her fingertips skim along her outer thigh. When Lexa's own fingers twitch longingly at her sides, she knows her lover is debating whether to take over the touch herself.

"And you have a look of hunger on your face."

That coaxes a laugh from Clarke. It's true. She is staring at Lexa with hunger, but she can't help it. Lexa's tanned skin fairly shimmers, and Clarke can just catch her scent—sweat, but the delicious kind, the kind that makes her mouth water to lap up the droplets pooling in Lexa's collarbone.

"So, what's your conclusion?" she asks, fixating intently on Lexa's throat. Her pulse throbs faintly there, and Clarke can feel her own spike to match it.

"My conclusion is that you have been a very bad girl."

Clarke's eyes widen in surprise, and she is snapped out of her trance. "Bad?" She's been lazy, certainly, but not  _ bad. _ She hasn't done anything wrong—at least, not today. But when she catches the barest hint of a smile dancing around Lexa's mouth, she realizes what's happening.

"A bad girl, huh?" She sits up, licking her lips deliberately. "What are you going to do, punish me?"

That, it seems, is enough to change Lexa's demeanor. Her eyes flash. Her shoulders lift and straighten. Her jaw tenses, becoming more angular, and her chin juts forward proudly. Suddenly, she is not just Lexa, but  _ Heda. _ She is the Commander Clarke first saw perched proudly upon her throne, toying with a dagger in one hand, but with a mind twice as sharp.

All the heat in the room is suddenly between Clarke's legs.

"Yes, I am, Ambassador. You have neglected your duties in order to indulge in your own selfish pleasure, and you must pay the price."

For a moment, Lexa hesitates, scanning Clarke's face for any signs of hesitance, but as Clarke meets the stare with her own, she makes sure there are none to be found. The idea of being punished is delicious enough to send a shiver passing through her despite the heat.

It's then, under the steel of Lexa's gaze, that Clarke realizes she has a choice to make. She can accept Lexa's punishment gracefully, to the culmination of their mutual pleasure... or she can make Lexa work for it. Both options are incredibly appealing, but in the end, her own stubbornness stirs within her. She can't  _ not _ challenge Lexa when she brings  _ Heda _ into the bedroom like this.

“Make me, Commander.”

Lexa's low growl is more animal than human. It's a rare sound, one that thrills Clarke to her core, but it isn't accompanied by the swift, feral movements Clarke expects. Instead, Lexa places two fingers beneath her chin, calmly but firmly guiding her to her feet. They are connected by less than an inch of skin, but Clarke feels every bit of her flesh spark at the touch. She stands obediently despite herself.

_ "Ai laik Heda," _ Lexa says, speaking in a whisper that is somehow more dangerous than a shout. "I can make you do whatever I wish."

Another shudder races down Clarke's spine. Still, she has enough composure left to respond, even if her thighs are dripping with more than sweat.  _ "Ai laik Wanheda,"  _ she says, just as soft, just as calm. "And I said, make me."

“I will not just make you. I will teach you.”

Lexa lunges.

Clarke suddenly finds herself swept off her feet and pinned flat to the bed, wrists trapped helplessly above her head. The movement was so swift, so fluid, that she hadn’t even seen it coming. But that is just like Lexa. She knows just how to use the element of surprise and make use of every bit of strength packed into her slender body.

She pushes back against that strength, fighting to free her arms, but Lexa has them firmly in hand. Lexa’s thighs tighten around her waist, and Clarke realizes she has an even closer view of the way those leather pants have molded to Lexa’s powerful legs, and the considerable swell between them.

“You have duties to attend to, _Ambassador,_ ” Lexa says, popping the second syllable of the word in an almost mocking way. “And I will remind you of one of them. It is your duty to serve _Heda,_ however she requires.”

For a moment, Clarke forgets to fight. Lexa’s fierce glare and iron grip have turned the warm stirring between her legs into a hot throb. She nearly moans, but swallows the sound at the last second. She still has her pride—and surrendering will be so much more fun if she forces Lexa to try harder.

She snorts, staring up at Lexa from beneath a stray tuft of her hair that has fallen in front of her eyes. “Are you really calling  _ me _ selfish for staying in bed today and asking me to ‘serve’ you in the same breath?”

Lexa doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Because I am  _ Heda, _ and you…” She lets go of Clarke’s wrists, correctly deducing that Clarke will not pull away, and unfastens the front of her tight leather pants with agonizing slowness. “You are the disobedient girl who is going to suck my cock.”

This time, Clarke can’t quite hide her gasp. Her mouth waters at the suggestion, tongue tingling. She is already remembering Lexa’s taste, thick and honey-sweet, and fuck, she wants it. She wants it in her mouth and down her throat and maybe, if she’s lucky, all over her face.

But she still isn’t willing to beg for it.

“I told you before.  _ Make _ me.”

Lexa merely smirks. “I plan to.”

She finishes undoing her pants and fishes for her shaft, and Clarke simply  _ has _ to watch. She whimpers slightly as the length of Lexa’s cock emerges, long and thick, the broad head already leaking. A strand of clear fluid clings to the tip, nearly ready to snap, and Clarke  _ almost _ loses control and leans up to try and catch it in her mouth.

Almost.

She stays still, and the warm string of wetness falls onto her bare stomach instead.

“I don’t believe,” Lexa continues, soaking in Clarke’s poorly hidden admiration, “that you are as lazy as you pretend. I think you  _ want _ to please me.”

“You think so, huh?” But Clarke cannot tear her eyes away from Lexa’s cock, and her statement, meant to be cheeky, is merely throaty with desire.

“Let’s see.”

Lexa crawls forward over Clarke’s body, kneeling just beneath her shoulders, and Clarke runs her tongue over her lips. The head of Lexa’s cock is only a few inches away from her lips. If she leaned forward off the bed, she could just take it into her mouth and roll her tongue over the glistening divot…

_ “Slak,” _ Lexa orders, and Clarke has to fight against instinct. Normally, when Lexa gives that command, she opens. Instead, with the last of her willpower, she turns her head away.

Lexa’s firm hand grasps her chin, pinching her cheeks hard and yanking her back into position. “I told you to open for me,  _ Ambassador. _ ”

This time, Clarke opens—just the slightest bit. It’s enough. Lexa shifts her hips forward, lining up with Clarke’s barely-parted lips and beginning to push inside.

Clarke stops pretending to resist. She opens, accepting the swollen head and letting her tongue glide over its slick tip. Lexa’s flavor bursts onto her tongue and she whines, a high pitched, needy sound that is exactly the opposite of the attitude she had been trying to display. But she is helpless. Lexa is in her mouth, not fucking her yet, but resting gently on her tongue and drizzling enough sticky sweetness to make her head spin.

_ “Sha, _ ” Lexa murmurs, caressing her cheek and gazing down at her with a much fonder expression. “There is my good, beautiful girl. See how you are rewarded when you decide to behave?”

It’s a strange contrast, seeing such soft green eyes set in Lexa’s jagged black warpaint, hearing such a loving, affectionate voice when Lexa was spitting orders mere moments before. Somehow, it turns Clarke on even more. She squirms, squeezing her thighs together as she continues lapping at the head of Lexa’s cock.

Soon, Lexa has given her another inch. Clarke begins bobbing on the shaft—a difficult feat, considering she’s still flat on her back and is forced to crane her neck at an awkward angle—but Lexa assists by gripping the back of her head to offer guidance. Before Clarke realizes, a good two-thirds of Lexa’s length is buried in her mouth and the tip is nudging the back of her throat.

_ “Swelon,” _ Lexa orders, her voice still kind and coaxing. “Swallow me.”

In her current state, Clarke can’t even think of disobeying. Breathing deeply through her nose, she opens her throat, allowing Lexa to slide even deeper. Lexa doesn’t thrust—she simply remains there, almost buried, cutting off Clarke’s breath for several dizzying seconds. Then she withdraws, pulling all the way out, allowing Clarke to suck in precious air. Still in the fog of obedience, she keeps her mouth open, waiting for Lexa to thrust back in.

Lexa repeats the motion a few more times, pushing into her throat and holding there just long enough for Clarke’s lungs to burn. It is a slow, controlled movement, one that has Clarke’s clit throbbing even though Lexa’s hands are still on the opposite end of her body, holding the back of her head. She relaxes, allowing Lexa to control the pace, to do whatever she wishes.

But the trance doesn’t last long. The next time Lexa pulls out, she stays that way, her cock bobbing as she leans back. It hangs heavy between her legs, and Clarke makes a soft noise of complaint, searching for it with her lips.

_ “Nou.” _ Lexa’s grip on her hair tightens, holding her back. “You are being punished, and I have not yet taught you your lesson.”

Fire stirs in Clarke’s belly again, a simmering indignation. “I let you fuck my throat,” she says, no longer Lexa’s obedient  _ Klark, _ but stubborn  _ Wanheda, _ and more than annoyed that Lexa has decided to stop.

“That was not the lesson.” Lexa leaves her, and for the first time that entire afternoon, Clarke feels cold without the warmth of Lexa’s leather pants clinging to her sides. “Stand up, Ambassador. You will take twenty strokes over my knee as punishment for neglecting your duties, and then  _ perhaps _ I will see to your needs… after mine have been satisfied.”

Clarke bares her teeth in defiance even as a fresh swell of wetness coats her inner thighs. The suggestion is humiliating, but she cannot deny how much it arouses her. She takes in Lexa, standing tall beside the edge of the bed, cock poking through her open pants, her face clearly stating that she will not accept ‘no’ for an answer.

“Why should I?”

Lexa’s face hardly twitches. “Because you are mine, and I demand it.”

_ Mine. _ That word sends a thrill through Clarke’s body, one she has no defense against. She rises, suddenly very aware of her nakedness. The light from the blinds cast stripes across her body, highlighting thin portions of her skin with tawny gold, and she feels incredibly exposed. Her nipples tighten and more heat drips down her legs.

Lexa does not touch her. Instead, she sits on the bed. Somehow, she still seems just as tall as when she was standing. She looks as regal on the mattress as she does on her throne, straight-backed, but relaxed, as if she  _ belongs _ there more than anyone else in the world.

“Lie across my lap,  _ niladon,” _ Lexa murmurs, patting one leather-clad thigh. Clarke snaps to attention, though she isn’t sure whether it’s from the affectionate phrase—‘one who kneels’, a reference to a  _ very _ tumultuous time in their relationship’s past. “It is time for you to take what you have earned.”

Clarke does, but slowly, at her own pace, huffing with annoyance the entire time. When she drapes herself over Lexa’s lap, she releases a breath of indignation—although part of it is also an exhale of delight. She can feel Lexa’s cock against her belly, warm and firm, throbbing with its own need. Lexa’s hands run along her back, almost like one would stroke a favorite cat, teasing the dips at the base of her spine before coming to rest on her rear.

That makes Clarke stiffen. Lexa’s touches are gentle now, but soon, they will be much different.

“You will count every blow, Ambassador, and thank me for them afterward. Is that understood?”

Clarke doesn’t answer. The hand cupping her backside is too distracting, Lexa’s voice too seductive. She is slipping rapidly beneath Lexa’s pull once more.

“Tell me you understand, Clarke,” Lexa says, but instead of insisting, Lexa sounds almost concerned. Once more, she looks down, searching Clarke’s face for any trace of unhappiness.

“Yes,” Clarke says, finding the words out of desperation. The last thing she wants is for Lexa to change her mind and stop. “Yes, I understand…  _ Heda. _ ”

“Then we will begin.”

Lexa presses Clarke’s cheek further into the mattress with one hand while the other, the one that has been cupping her ass, pulls away.

“Remember, you will count every blow, and thank me after I deliver it.”

Clarke tries to prepare, but her attempts to relax are useless. Lexa has left her quivering with need, with anticipation, and all she can do is wonder how the first strike will feel. Will it be soft? A warm-up? Or will it be hard, like the punishment Lexa has promised? Where will it fall? Her skin feels electric and another sticky layer of sweat rolls down her back, evaporating into the air.

Just when the waiting becomes unbearable, the flat of Lexa’s hand breaks across her backside. Clarke yelps in surprise, but the blow does not hurt. The sting, while startling, melts quickly into a pleasant ache. Her clit twitches in response, and she nearly forgets to follow Lexa’s orders.

_ “Won—mochof, Heda.” _

Lexa slaps the same place again, harder, testing her tolerance. Clarke hisses, barely resisting the temptation to arch.

_ “Tu—mochof, Heda.” _

She waits, anticipating the third blow, but once more, Lexa surprises her. Instead of striking her again, Lexa’s fingers wander along her inner thigh, gathering up a thick trail of wetness.

“You are enjoying this punishment, aren’t you,  _ Wanheda _ ?” Her tone is teasing, smug, and absolutely infuriating.

“No,” Clarke says—a reflex—but she regrets it when Lexa moves higher, probing at her slit and gathering even more slickness. A moment later, Clarke finds herself staring at those same glistening fingers as Lexa holds them in front of her mouth.

“You choose to lie to me, even when the evidence is right beneath your nose?”

In one last act of defiance, Clarke takes Lexa’s wet fingers past her lips, swiping her tongue around and between them and gathering up her own taste. Lexa pulls them out with a wet pop, grasping Clarke’s chin much as she had before. “Save that for my cock, Ambassador. And if you try something like that again, you will take thirty strokes instead of twenty.”

“Twenty? I thought it was eighteen more?”

“Twenty,” Lexa says firmly, and from the way her green eyes glint from within the dark, streaky kohl of her warpaint, Clarke knows better than to correct her again. She lowers her head back to the mattress in submission.

Lexa’s hand returns to its place above her ass, and the next swat comes soon after. It’s on the opposite cheek, and it stings fiercely.

“ _ Won—mochof, Heda.” _

Again, in the same place.

_ “Tu—mochof, Heda.” _

By the third stroke, Clarke is churning her hips. She almost forgets to count for Lexa and thank her because the biting sting has receded to a much more pleasant heat.

“ _ Thri—mochof, Heda.” _ Smack.  _ “Fou—mochof, Heda.” _

Three swift slaps follow, with no reprieve in between.

_ “Fai, sis, sen—mochof, Heda.” _

Wetness runs in rivers down her thighs, enough to stain the side of Lexa’s leg and probably paint the furs beneath. She relishes this, the way Lexa commands her, controls her—the sensations skittering from head to toe in her body and the very words that spill from her pleading mouth. Just a few light blows, and she is a soft, willing supplicant beneath the mighty hand of  _ Heda _ .

The blows continue in a shower, barely breaking long enough for her to gasp out the numbers as ordered.

_ “Eit… nain… ten…” _

Lexa pauses, and Clarke remembers:  _ “Mochof, Heda.” _

At last, Lexa stops. She lets her hand rest on Clarke’s backside, massaging one of the reddest, hottest handprints. “Your punishment is half over.” Her fingertips skim over the raw flesh, soothing the sting with tender touches before delving between Clarke’s swollen lips in search of more slickness. “Do you have anything you wish to say, Ambassador?  _ Wanheda? _ ”

Clarke has plenty she wishes to say, but all that comes out is a whimper.

Lexa waits a beat, then begins toying with Clarke’s entrance, thrusting shallowly without offering any real penetration.

“Very well. Does my  _ Klark _ have anything she wishes to say?”

Clarke has to swallow before trying again, and even then, her words are throaty and gasping. “Please,” she whispers, far beyond the point of pretend resistance, “please fuck me.”

Lexa, of course, pretends not to hear. “What was that? Please, repeat yourself… louder.”

Distracted as she is, Clarke has only two volumes: soft, and overly loud. When she speaks, she shouts, her throat tight with tears. “Please, Heda… _Leksa…_ _fuck_ me.”

This time, Lexa slips a finger past her entrance. It curls forward, scraping against Clarke’s inner wall, but it’s not nearly thick enough. Clarke’s inner walls clasp around it, but it doesn’t offer the stretch she needs, even though it’s hitting the perfect spot. Unless Lexa adds at least one more—or, better yet, uses the hard shaft Clarke can still feel poking into her stomach—the hardest thrusts in the world will be all but useless.

The next ten slaps are much harder than the ones that came before. Lexa is using much more force, and the first two have Clarke wincing in actual pain.

“Please,” she tries again, on the edge of desperation. “Fuck me hard.”

Lexa pauses, and for a moment, Clarke is sure she will add another finger. Instead, she withdraws, and Clarke wails in agony. The hollowness hurts even more than her stinging backside.

“You must take the rest of your punishment first.  _ Then _ I might fuck you. Are you ready?”

This, Clarke knows, is her last chance. She can end this game with a mere word, and Lexa will give her whatever she needs: an orgasm, an embrace, sweet words and tender kisses. But some part of her, the stubborn part,  _ wants _ to finish her punishment. She wants to prove to Lexa that she can. With her inner strength redirected, she lifts her hips and prepares for more.

_ “Sha, Heda. Beja _ , give me the rest of my punishment.” This time, it takes a few seconds for the fire to die down.  _ “Len, twel… Mochof, Heda.” _

“Good girl,” Lexa says, and Clarke catches sight of a rare smile on her face before the next blow hits.

_ “Thotin—Mochof, Heda.” _ Slap.  _ “Fotin—Mochof…” _

It goes on like that for two more slaps, but on  _ sistin, _ Lexa seems to grow distracted. Number seventeen never comes, and Clarke feels Lexa’s pelvis begin to stir beneath her. Trapped within the heady haze of submitting to Lexa’s will, it takes her a moment to realize that Lexa is thrusting. Lexa’s cock rubs insistently against her stomach, painting it with trails of wetness.

Once more, Clarke finds herself swept off-balance by Lexa’s strength. Lexa lifts her up and bends her over the bed, and the last four slaps are all but forgotten. A moment later, Clarke is muffling her screams with the sheets as Lexa’s cock splits her open. There is barely any friction—she’s wet enough to take anything—but Lexa is still  _ so _ big. The thickness sawing in and out of her sends stars flashing before Clarke’s eyes, brighter than any she’s seen even from the Ark.

_ “Niladon,” _ Lexa mutters from behind her, kissing messily along her spine.  _ “Jok,  _ the way you squeeze… the way you milk me…”

Clarke clenches even harder as two of Lexa’s fingers find her clit, landing in the perfect spot. As always, Lexa knows exactly where to stroke.

“Fuck me,” she chants, unable to summon any other words. “Fuck me, fuck me,  _ please _ fuck m—Ahh!”

She yelps as Lexa’s hand breaks across her backside yet again. It’s the hardest blow yet, and Clarke howls even after it’s ended, because Lexa’s pumping hips have picked up even more speed.

Dimly, she remembers what she has to say.  _ “Sentin—Mochof, Heda.” _

“Again.” Lexa slaps her other cheek this time, and Clarke can’t possibly stifle her sob in the furs. It hurts so wonderfully, and Lexa’s pace is savage. The length of Lexa’s cock stretches her to her limit with every thrust, and her heels kick helplessly against the air.

_ “Eitin—Mochof, Heda.” _

“Again,  _ Klark. _ ”

Clarke squirms, but there is no escape. She doesn’t  _ want _ to escape. Her body is burning and the pleasure is blinding and Lexa is filling her to the brim, pushing her to the edge of breaking. When Lexa strikes her again, she cries, “ _ Naitin—Mochof, Heda,” _ so loud as to be embarrassing.

Lexa halts abruptly, and Clarke’s entire body seizes. At first, she thinks Lexa is about to come. The throbbing length buried within her is pounding with the same pressure she feels, and is certainly close to bursting. But Lexa doesn’t release, and Clarke is floating somewhere in space. She grasps at the covers, but the handfuls of fur don’t help bring her back to earth. Lexa is her only remaining tether to this world, and she whimpers as Lexa strokes her ass, soothing her sore flesh—or admiring her handiwork.

“Have you accepted your punishment,  _ Klark? _ ”

All of the desperation Clarke feels comes pouring from her mouth. “Not a punishment.”

“Oh?” Clarke can practically hear Lexa’s raised eyebrow, followed by the suspicious furrow of her forehead.

“It’s my privilege…  _ Heda.” _

Lexa doesn’t move, and Clarke wonders if she has gone too far by speaking out of turn. Her inner muscles ripple uselessly around Lexa’s cock, waiting for the harsh movements to start up again, and her clit strains for attention against the still air. Then, at last, Lexa delivers one final smack to her ass—with a  _ crack _ loud enough to fill the room.

Clarke’s eyes well with tears of relief, and as soon as Lexa starts fucking her again, they spill freely down her face. She may be  _ Wanheda _ to the Grounders and Ambassador to her people, but to her lover, she is only Clarke _ — _ just as Lexa is only Lexa and not Heda. She doesn’t trust anyone else in the world enough to surrender herself this way, to offer herself up, and the freedom is intoxicating.

_ “ _ _ Ai na fil yu gapa op _ _ ,” _ Lexa mumbles beside her ear, lips just grazing the lobe—and Clarke is undone.

She knows she should wait for Lexa to give explicit permission, but she can’t. Lexa has already pushed her past the brink. The summit she breaches is high enough to leave her breathless, and the landing shakes her to her very core. She pulses wildly around Lexa’s cock, weeping with absolute joy—joy earned through pain, lovingly bestowed.

When Lexa comes at last, pumping deep and flooding her core with heat, Clarke falls even further. Each buck of Lexa’s hips brings more harsh spurts, and Clarke accepts them all, molding tight to the shape of Lexa’s cock and fluttering as it throbs within her. If the spanking was a privilege, this is nothing short of a reward, and she can imagine nothing better.

It takes Lexa a while to empty, but Clarke knows her perception of time is skewed. She is more than content to float down from her own peak as Lexa finishes inside her—rapid, jogging movements slowing to a leisurely rut, more grinding than thrusting. With a final grunt and a few more weak twitches, Lexa is finished, and Clarke’s happy tears have dried up. Even when Lexa withdraws, Clarke can still feel her lover’s warmth tucked safely within her.

Lexa collapses on top of her, sighing happily, and Clarke grins to herself. Her rear is tender, but feeling Lexa melt over her, and feeling Lexa’s softening shaft dripping between her scratched and bruised thighs, is more than worth the fading pain.

_ “Os gada,” _ Lexa breathes, nuzzling the wing of Clarke’s shoulderblade.  _ “Ain os gada…” _

_ Good girl. _ No matter the language, Clarke always relishes the praise Lexa lavishes upon her.

“Have I been punished enough?” she asks, rolling out from beneath Lexa’s weight and opening her arms.

Lexa accepts the invitation and climbs onto the bed to join her, snuggling in close. They hold each other for a while, breathing in each other’s scents.

“You know you never needed punishing,” Lexa says, sweeping a lock of hair free from her sweaty forehead. “You simply seemed sad today. I wanted to cheer you up.”

“By hitting me,” Clarke said, stifling a giggle.   


“Yes.” Lexa’s brow furrows. “Did it not work?”

Clarke grins, biting her lower lip as her laughter escapes. “Yeah. It worked.”

Lexa rolls on top of her, and Clarke is a little surprised to notice that her shaft is stirring again. “You’ll have to be gentle,” she warns—she loves every moment of Lexa’s roughness, but she also knows her body’s limits, and she can’t take any more punishment today.

“As gentle as my  _ niron _ deserves.”

Clarke exhales softly. Lexa has called her  _ niron, _ and though she likes  _ niladon _ just as much, the difference puts her at peace. She welcomes Lexa’s weight, folding her Commander into her arms.

Slowly, the rest of Lexa’s clothes are shed. Her shirt comes off, then her pants, and though it’s a bit difficult to peel her out of all that leather, Clarke loves the slippery skin beneath even more. She runs her hand over every inch of it that she can reach, and Lexa preens under the attention.

_ “Klark,” _ Lexa says before Clarke’s hands can wander too far, cradling her face.  _ “Ai hod yu in. _ ”

Clarke continues gazing into Lexa’s eyes as her own palm wanders down, circling softly around Lexa’s shaft and guiding it back to her entrance.  _ “Ai hod yu in seintaim. Otaim.” _

_ “Otaim,” _ Lexa agrees.

They make love for the rest of the afternoon, until the maddening heat of the day finally breaks and cool moonlight shines in through the slits in the balcony.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the Trig is easy enough to decipher from context, but:
> 
> Niladon = a teasing nickname, 'one who kneels', Clarke & Lexa use it for each other because of the bow and vow  
> Niron = beloved  
> Ai hod yu in = I love you  
> Otaim = Always  
> Slak= Open  
> Swelon = swallow  
> Sha = yes  
> Jok = fuck
> 
> Ai na fil yu gapa op = I'm going to fill your pussy  
> Ain os gada = my good girl
> 
> That should be most of it. The rest is just counting.


End file.
